Nightmare Magazine #112, January 2022
“Dick Pig” by Ian Muneshwar
“The Elements of Herself” by Kiyomi Appleton Gaines
“New Meat™” by Jordan Shiveley
Reviewed by Tara Grímravn
The editor at Nightmare Magazine has chosen to ring in the new year with a selection of three rather deranged fiction pieces in honor of the rather crazy time that was the last several years. One has to admit, they’ve certainly chosen to wade into some strange waters this time ‘round.
“Dick Pig” by Ian Muneshwar
Edwin is staying at his late aunt’s home. She’d left him something special in her will, having hidden it somewhere in the house, and he was there to find it. Tonight, as he huddles beneath old quilts that reek of mothballs, a message from Grindr appears on his phone. After a brief conversation with the creepy sender, Edwin blocks him and turns off his phone, only to have new messages appear in the morning. Somehow, this weirdo seems to know about whatever it is his aunt left for him.
Along with its rather strange name, this is also a rather strange story—and not necessarily in a good way. To be fair, it starts out well. The threat from the Grindr messages, the eeriness of the house itself and its remote location, and the recent death of a loved one whose body was found frozen inside the home all conspire to build one up for a satisfactorily frightening tale. Unfortunately, this doesn’t actually happen.
Very little in the narrative makes sense past the first scene, and I didn’t feel any building of tension or foreboding once I got deeper into the story. After reading it several times, I still can’t piece together the deal with the Crack, the Grindr messages, and Edwin’s fate, or why his aunt would want any of this to occur. And all of this is, of course, followed by an epilogue of sorts that is equally disappointing and seemingly out of place. I didn’t really enjoy this one.
“The Elements of Herself” by Kiyomi Appleton Gaines
A girl remembers following her father through the forest, listening with glee as he recites again how he found her, as an infant, among the bamboo. She remembers how, now grown, suitors had come and gone. She and her father had refused them all—even the Emperor himself. And yet, between these memories, she realizes she cannot feel her body. Nor can she see—there is only darkness.
This piece of dark fantasy is based on a 9th-century Japanese story called “The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter.” The original, while at first glance might appear to be a tale of star-crossed lovers, is really a morality tale meant to impress upon the reader the lesson that everyone should know their place in the natural order of things and not to marry or otherwise try to rise above their family’s rank or status. Gaines has taken this idea and twisted it into something entirely different—and far darker.
Here, we are still presented with the basic elements of the original tale, but the ending, hinted at by the memories, is both unexpected and truly horrifying. There’s also a hint of feminist theory interjected, of the danger posed to women who fail to obey the demands of the patriarchy, even if the patriarchy violates the natural order for its own pleasure. This undercurrent I find a bit tired and worn out overall, but its impact is minimal, and the narrative and ending still make it well worthwhile as a whole.
“New Meat™” by Jordan Shiveley
You wake, the remnants of the dream still slick on your skin. As you move through your day, you catch the occasional scent of the dream meal on passersby, and it makes your mouth water. The scent is so seductive, all you can do is wait till the next dream.
Shiveley’s story is an incredibly short piece of flash fiction, but it packs a punch. The imagery is wholly unsettling, made even more so because it’s impossible to tell just what (or potentially who) is being eaten. Is this a case of collective cannibalism or something else? Of course, it’s what’s not being said, the gaps in the story, that create the sense of dread and unease. Ultimately, however, though it’s an uncomfortable read that does its job, it just isn’t quite my cup of tea.